This Side of the Trail
by Sakusha
Summary: Historical AU.A lawman on the hunt for justice.A cowboy running from his past.An outcast from London society.A street rat hiding from a secret. Yaoi.RK YO
1. Little House on the Prarie

Disclaimer: Though I love history, I am not a historian. Though I adore the Weiss boys, I do not own them. This story will contain Yaoi , an AU setting and a bit of American history. Enjoy!

A very special thank you to Krysana, who reads through my bad spelling, grammar, and poor use of comma's (grin), and still takes her precious time to beta my stuff. hugs I thank you dearly.

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**This Side of The Trail**

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_Montana Territory 1834_

Gazing out over the east field, Randall McClellen Sr. contemplated yet again everything that had gotten him to this point in his life. The move, the work, the trials. Uprooting his young family from a cozy home in Boston and taking them hundreds of miles and into the unknown just to make his dreams of ranching come true. Three years. It had been just three short backbreaking years, and never once had his wife or children complained over all the hard work it had taken to turn fertile prairie land into the productive little farm that it is today. The joy of seeing his first crop. The knowledge that his hands had built all that he had owned. The smile on his families faces as they broke bread over an evening supper. He smiled as he thought of them. _Yes_, he thought. It had definitely been worth it.

_This_ piece of land however, he frowned, had started to annoy him. It was by far his largest piece of land. If he had the money, it could be by far his most productive. But as is stood right now, it was pretty unproductive, save the small herd of cattle he'd acquired a few months back. With the last of his family's savings he had invested in cattle, much as the other farms in the area. But it would take years to turn a profit, and he now needed to irrigate part of this field for crops just to keep from going under. It was all one big endless circle. It certainly wasn't what he'd imagined while reading to his son by the fire in his cozy home back east. Lewis and Clark had many wild adventures, but none of them had included farming. Then again, that little boy had grown up into a fine young man while working the land beside himself, and all the comforts of the east coast was not enough to make him trade those memories.

He turned his attention to the creek just a few yards away. It was down a gully and ran clear through the field and past his home acres away. Just up ahead the gully opened up and the creek ran under a small patch of trees that marked the midpoint of the east field. Randall noted that the cattle liked to linger here, and so he thought he'd check their well being. He certainly did not have the money to lose them to any ailment. Coming closer to the lazy herd he realized that some of these were not his cattle. The branding on half of the cattle were his, the 'RM' clearly marking the rump, the other half bore the branding of a neighboring ranch.

"Damn it all." He said, stomping his foot in the dirt. A few of the cattle took the time to look at him a little warily but for the most part they kept right on grazing, hardly aware of his presence. On two other occasions had he found these very same cattle grazing on his land. Randall took a moment to control his anger. Now it was quite likely that these cattle just wandered off and no one has noticed up till now that they were missing. At least that's what he kept telling himself. But somewhere in the back of his mind he was sure that the owner just didn't care. At least that was the impression he got the last time he brought back the errant cattle. The ranch's owner, Thomas or Thomson, hadn't even bothered to come out and thank him, but instead sent a ranch hand out to deal with the whole situtuation. And then Mr. Thomas had the audacity to send Mr. McClellan a lowball offer for his property.

He was turned down flat of course, but Randall had never forgotten the feeling that he was just a minor inconvenience to this guy, whoever he was.

Randall Sr. thought of himself as a fairly easygoing fellow, but clearly he was going to have to be a bit firmer with his neighbor. He let his anger drain away, but kept his resolve. He would be friendly and take the cattle back this last time, but he would make it clear to Mr. Thompson that this _would_ be the last time. From now on any cattle caught grazing on McClellan land would be considered his own. He rounded up the cattle, knowing the rest of the day was shot to hell and started heading North, hoping that if anything Mrs. McClellan would have a nice warm meal waiting for him when he got back.

* * *

"Ma, she's buggin' me again!"

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"MA!"

The redheaded teen tipped his hat at the noonday sun in exasperation. He wasn't getting a damn thing done with his sister pestering him all morning. Since sun-up she'd followed him, making every chore a trial unto itself. He'd chopped and stacked the wood; she'd knock it down. He'd gathered the eggs; she'd dropped the bucket on the way back to the house. He'd stacked the hay into neat piles ready for bailing; she'd used those piles as a slide for her and her doll Emma. Two hours of work gone in minutes. And now that he'd finally finished the daily chores he desperately wanted to spend some time to himself.

He practically forgot to shut the corral in his eagerness. His spare time was rare and he wanted to spend it with his most prized possession, a dapple-gray pony he'd been given for his 16th birthday just last week. Hard to enjoy however, when right now there was a pig-tailed 8-year-old sitting on the edge of the corral singing at the top of her lungs. He wasn't sure who had the bigger headache, him or his horse. The pony shifted a bit in discomfort as a particularly high note was sung of key. Ran reached up and patted her smooth coat, scratching behind the ears.

"I know Ruby girl. She's makin' me edgy too." Ran whispered in a soothing voice as he went on brushing down her fine coat.

"What's going on out here?" Ran looked up to see his mother walking over to the corral, drying her hands on her apron. She'd finally come to sort things out. Reaching the corral she looked to her eldest for an answer.

"Well?"

"Ma, she's been at it all mornin'." Ran gave the evil eye to his sister, who then replied, "Have not." And stuck her tongue back at him.

"See what I mean?" Ran pointed.

Ran's mother then looked to her youngest. "Aya, why don't you go get the wash board and you can help Mama with the wash."

Aya frowned at the thought of doing chores. Ran snickered. "But Mama...." Aya whined.

"And then we'll make some bread. Ok Poppet?" Mrs. McClellen smiled.

"Bread!" Cheering, Aya hoped down off the fence, but not before she stuck out her tongue at her brother again. Both Ran and his mother watched as she then ran off to the barn to get the washboard.

Mrs. McClellan turned back to Ran, who was just about to resume grooming his pony. "I know it's hard sometimes Ran, but you have to remember, this isn't like Boston. She has no one to play with and the nearest neighbor is miles away. She's just bored, that's all. Try to keep that in mind, alright?" She clearly understood Ran's dilemma, but wanted to make sure he understood Aya's as well.

Ran hung his head a bit as he continued to rub the animal. He suddenly felt guilty for being a bit short tempered with his sister. It had been quite an adjustment for himself when they'd left behind his friends, the city, and his cozy little home years before. He imagined that for a small child with no friends and not many responsibilities, getting underfoot was really just due to boredom.

"Sorry Ma." He said wholeheartedly, "I guess I'll try harder."

His mother smiled at him over the corral. "I understand that you're getting older and you want more time to yourself too. You're turning into a young man right before my eyes." She said wistfully.

"Ma..." Ran blushed.

"Your Pa keeps telling me that we'll be well on our way to prosperity once those cattle get to breeding." She chucked a bit. "At least that's the plan. Says we'll hire a ranch hand. By next year some time you should be able to go back to Boston for a visit. I know you've wanted to see your uncle for a while now. You can go to back to school if you like, maybe meet a pretty girl." She winked.

Ran blushed again. "I like it plenty here, Ma."

"I'm proud of you, Randy." Then, noticing Aya trying to drag the washtub over to the well by herself, Mrs. McClellan started across the yard to help her daughter.

"Oh, Randy?"

"Yeah Ma?" Ran looked up.

"Can you take a lunch to your father? He didn't eat breakfast this morning and I expect he's a bit hungry about now. I believe he's in the east field today. Said something about the cattle."

Well, that was that. The time he had counted on having to himself was gone. For a moment he was going to protest. He felt slightly guilty at the resentment, but being part of a family meant they had to work together, and that meant there was no room for selfishness.

"Sure Ma."

* * *

He loved to ride. The winds sifting through his hair felt like freedom. Ran pushed the horse a bit faster. He followed the gully out into the east field and through the slightly uneven terrian. He slowed after while, his horse could not hold the speed Ran was asking for very long. He fervently hoped his own pony, once fully trained, would have more endurance.

Seeing cattle ahead, Ran started to scan for his father. Ran didn't see him at first glance, but his father could be in the midst of the cattle, or even getting an errant cow out of the gully. They did tend to go down there, past the trees they frequented. Not being incredibly bright animals, sometimes they couldn't find there way back out.

"Pa?" Ran called out.

He heard the brook, but nothing else so Ran started to weed through the cattle. He called for his father again, but it didn't take long to figure out that the only thing keeping him company here were the cattle. While Ran thought it odd his father was not where he had said he would be, occasionally Randall Sr. would get caught in the middle of this place or that with a new brainstorm on how to make the ranch run more efficiently. The last time that happened, this field was exactly where Ran had found his father, out in the east field talking about cattle and how it was the wave of the future. Inwardly, Ran groaned, wondering what new animal or crop would visit them next. Again Ran scanned the area and called out a couple of times. Not quite squelching a bit nervous tension, Ran decided he had better find his father and put it to rest. He decided to follow the gully all the way up, and maybe criss cross the acreage if he had to.

It was well into the afternoon when Ran found himself back where he had started his search. That nervous feeling had grown into full-fledged fear. What if his father had fallen somewhere and he'd passed him in the field? What if wild animals had attacked him?

Ran calmed his panic by telling himself that his father had been gone from the field long before he'd gotten there himself. Probably went home to work in the barn and was mad that Ran wasn't there to help him. It didn't feel true, but Ran figured he better get home just the same, and so he turned his weary steed back towards home.

There seemed to be a storm up ahead, and it looked as if loomed in the direction of his home. Ran could feel turmoil building inside of him as he drew closer to the thunderhead. He picked up his pace with great unease, he could not squelch this feeling of wrongness. When Ran finally drew up on the last hill within sight of home he was shocked instantly by the sight.

What he had thought were storm clouds, were actually great billows of smoke. It poured out of what had been the main house. Even more disturbing was the lack of motion in the yard. There was absolutely no one in sight. Ran drove his horse into a full run. Every second that ticked by felt like eternity as Ran prayed for the safety of those he loved.

Upon reaching the main spread Ran draw up on his reins and jumped down, not even waiting for the horse to completely stop.

"Mother! Ma! Aya!!!" He called, searching the immediate area. He ran to the barn, looking just long enough to see that it was empty. Again in the yard, he noticed the upturned wash barrel, muddied clothing and tracks going towards the smoldering house.

"MA! AYA!" He cried.

No one answered, there was only the sound of burning wood. Ran sprinted up to the remains of the house, but draw back quickly from the heat. Using his arm to shield against the heat and the smoke he desperately looked for a way in. In his panic he didn't even feel the burns to his hands as he tried to pry the door open. It finally registered that the house had been on fire for some time. Slowly he took a step back and looked, really looked and was almost broken by what he saw. The roof was caved and smoldering, the walls he had helped his father build were blackened and hollow looking. Really there were only a few flames left, but the damage to the house had been total. Everything... everyone...was gone.

Taking another step back Ran stepped on something soft. He turned his attention from the fire to what lay on the ground. Blinking through the tears he recognized it as Emma, Aya's beloved doll. He had only meant to pick it up, but found himself on his knees clutching the much-abused toy.

* * *

It took five days to say goodbye. The first two were spent watching the cinders of his lost home die down and cool. The third, to bury the dead. The fourth just to wonder. There were things that had happened here that he did not have the answers too.

Ran had found his father, with the rest of his family. He was among the three graves freshly dug. Yet his father's horse was nowhere to be found. In fact, all of the animals had been let loose sometime before Ran had come home. As near as Ran could tell, the fire that had taken his family had started on the outside, and not anywhere near the stove. Clearly they had been attacked. And Ran had not been there to protect his family. No, he had survived, if only through default. That was what had plagued his mind the most. If he had been here, would things have been different?

That fifth day he knew it was time to go. He had family back in Boston that would take him in. Sitting on the rails of the broken corral, Ran took a good long look at what was left of his home. His prized pony had been lost with the rest of the animals. There were flowers on the kern that marked his family's graves. The house that had once been his fathers pride was in a heap just across the way. The barn that still stood proudly was the only witness to something Ran had yet to figure out. This was his goodbye. There would be no more tears. He could not stay, but in time he would be back. Ran swore on the graves of his family he would return and rebuild. He would find answers to the questions that plagued him. Ran would find those responsible for what had happened here and make them pay.

* * *

Notes: Yes, I actually did some research! And because I did, you have to read.

_Montana_ was part of the _Louisiana Purchase_, a very large chunk of land, bought from France in 1803 by Thomas Jefferson. Spain had recently lost the land to France, but Napoleon, fearing that he may default this land to his enemies if he lost the war with England, sold the Louisiana Purchase to America for a mere 15 million dollars. (Consequently, Napoleon did lose the war with England.)

This turned out to be a great deal, for America that is, at roughly 3 cents an acre. America had doubled it size, and now owned some of the most beautiful and fertile land on the continent.

President Lincoln created the Montana Territory on May 26, 1864. My story however takes place thirty years earlier, and for that purpose, I am going to consider Montana a territory at this time. I will do this from time to time to fit the storyline that I have planned.

Montana became the 42nd American State on Nov. 8 1889

_Lewis and Clark_ were commissioned by President Thomas Jefferson to be the first organized expedition across this new land. Their task was manifold. Map the waterways, the land and terrain; make treaties with the natives, and study flora and fauna. The both kept journals of their adventures, and they were made for publication in 1814. These would be the journals that Randall Sr. would have been reading to young Ran. Lewis and Clark passed through Montana twice. Once in 1804/1805 on their way to the Pacific and again in 1806 on their way back. I recommend reading the about their expedition if you find the time. It really is quite fascinating.

As I would like to put more time into the development of the storyline and characters my updates may be slower than normal. This is quite an undertaking with many chapters involved. And yes, all of Schwartz will make an appearance. Schu wouldn't stop making those big chibi eyes until I promised.

Ps. I gave Ran's pony the name of a fellow writer in the anime writers group that gave me some very helpful suggestions. Thank you

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	2. End of Innocence

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* * *

_

_Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

_August 1836_

* * *

Coal dust. It was everywhere.

Ken looked from the black coated soap bar to the tub of water. He was sure that the soap had been a milky white at one time, just as sure as the water had been clean... at one time. But he'd been the last one to get home, his three brothers and Da had already washed for the night. He shuddered as he got into the cold water, washed as quickly as humanly possible and got out just as quickly. Just once, he was going to beat everyone home from the mines, including Da, just so he could have the opportunity to soak in a hot clean bath.

Ken pulled on his pants, folded the towel and threw it over the washing line. He tipped the water out of the tub, and watched as the gray liquid flowed out and soaked into the ground, leaving behind a black film.

A muffled sound at the corner of the house alerted him to someone presence.

"I'll be there in a minute, Danny," he said, shaking his hair out.

"Hallo Kenny," a nasally voice replied.

Startled, Ken's head shot up. The heir to the Krause Mining Company was there, leaning against the house. The boss's son, and the only person Ken knew that could sneak up on himself so easily. Erik had his hands in his pockets, one leg resting on the other as if he hadn't a care in the world. The setting sun danced in his orange flame hair. He was smirking, Ken noticed, but then he was always smirking.

"Jesus, Erik! How long ya been standin' there?"

"Long enough to know you could use another bath," Erik chuckled, straightening up a bit.

Ken blushed.

"I don't have time right now, Erik. I gotta get dinner. Your father keeps changing the production hours. At this rate, I'll barely get to sleep before its time to get up again, " he sighed.

"So go make dinner. I'll wait. The river will still be there, Kenny." Swimming in the river had been their favorite pastime for four years passing.

Ken thought about his choices. He could be a bit tired but refreshingly clean, or he could try sleeping with the grime that still coated his body. He'd most likely spend the night tossing and turning, and losing just as much sleep over it.

"Alright, but I can't stay out too late. Da almost killed me when he found out how late we were last time. Wait by the river, I'll be there in half an hour."

Ken bounded into his family's one room cabin, announcing his arrival.

"Ken, what took you so long?" Danny looked up from his book.

"Oh...sorry. Nothing. Supper will be ready soon." Ken looked thoughtfully at his brother and smiled as he recognized the book. Out of all of his brothers, Danny, the eldest, was the only one who had had any proper schooling. The other two hadn't had any interest in learning, but Ken had asked Danny to teach him how to read. They owned a total of three books. The one Danny was reading was his favorite.

Ken put together a meager meal consisting of potato soup and soda bread, and called out to his brothers that supper was served. Ken ate quickly, not wanting to keep Erik waiting long. On his way out, he picked up a bowl for his Da, who was sitting out on the front porch in his favorite chair. Walking out onto the porch, he noticed his father's eyes were closed, so he put the bowl down quietly on the table beside the rocking chair and started down the stairs.

"Don't stay out too late, Ken."

Ken flinched guiltily at being caught, but answered his father as innocently as possible. "I won't, Da."

His father shifted in his chair, but didn't open his eyes. " I don't like that boy Ken. He's trouble."

"We're just going to the river Da. Don't worry. Be back soon."

As Ken ran off to meet Erik, he really couldn't fault his Da. Erik could be a nuisance. As a rich man's son, Erik got away with a hell of a lot. He was smart, fast with words, and he had a wicked sense of humor. He'd had a brush or two with the law, but nothing serious. Ken found Erik exciting, though sometimes rather unnerving. Like today, when he'd caught Ken taking a bath.

Erik was already down by the river. They'd found the cove years ago, perfect for swimming and fishing, keeping them clear of the steady current. He was leaning against a tree, copying the pose he had earlier.

"Ken, what took ya so long? It's getting dark."

"_Some_ people have responsibilities, you know," Ken said sarcastically, " When's the last time you've worked a twelve hour shift? I bet you haven't been down in those mines since I meet you."

Ken remembered the day four years ago, when he'd found the redhead hiding in the mineshaft while Mr. Krause had been surveying the miner's progress. Erik should have been inspecting the mine as well, but had managed to give his father the slip, eager to stay away from the responsibility for as long as possible. Ken had only been thirteen then, but he understood what it was like to grow up before your time. Erik's father had been livid at the disappearance of his son. Ken had found the redhead, but those eyes pleaded with Ken not to reveal him. Ken stood in front of Erik's hiding place until the ranting man had left. They had been best friends since.

" I resent that comment," Erik replied dryly. He rolled his socks into his shoes and took of his shirt.

Ken laughed, "Resent what? Responsibilities or the mines?" Ken did the same, only in the reverse, starting with his shirt. They got to their pants at the same time.

"Both." Erik was completely serious when he answered, but when he looked back at Ken, his famous grin was back in place.

"Bet I can beat you in," Erik made the challenge.

"You're on!" Even as Ken answered, he started running.

Ken had a head start, but it was Erik who made a splash first, Ken just at his heels. After a few minutes of horseplay they quieted down, each lost in their own thoughts. Ken set to washing the day's work off his body, while Erik floated nearby.

"So...Erik. You going back to school in the fall?"

Erik was quiet for so long, Ken didn't think he was going to answer. Abruptly, Erik dunked himself, stood up, and rung his hair out.

"Not this year, Ken." There was that serious tone in his voice again. "Father says he's wasting his money. He's going to have me start up working for him next week. Says that's where I shoulda been all along." At eighteen, it was past the time he should have stepped into his father's shoes.

"But what about what you want?" Ken asked.

Erik gave a bitter laugh. "It's never been about what I want. It's always what he's wanted. You know that Ken."

Ken did know. They'd spent countless hours talking about Erik's father's demands for his life. He was as overbearing as a father as he was as a boss. Ken found the whole situation highly ironic. He himself could not follow his dreams for lack of money and Erik would not be free for quite the opposite.

Ken finished washing up and they made their way to the bank. They lay on their backs looking for the first star of the evening.

"Ken," there was a pause before he continued, " What if you could just get away from it all, ya know? Just ride off into the sunset and not look back. Would you?"

Ken had thought the very same thing ten times a day, mostly whilst some hundred and fifty feet underground. Erik knew Ken had dreams too. Though where as Erik wasn't quite sure what he wanted out of life, Ken had long since given up on his dream of riding an unbridled horse through green valleys. Those were dreams only found in his books. And his love for the prideful beasts that he would never own, well, that would always be just one more regret.

The first time he'd actually gotten to ride a horse, had been to his mothers funeral. It was the same day he'd realized that dreams were just that, and he started working in the mines just like his Da and his brothers that very summer.

"You know, I used to think I could, Erik. But it takes all of our wages just to keep things going. And Da..." Ken trailed off. His Da hadn't been well in quite some time. Da coughed, a lot. Blood came up more times than not. And it was getting worse, Ken realized with a sinking feeling. Even if he could go, Ken knew he would not. His family needed him.

Erik sat up and leaned over, looking Ken in the eyes. "You'll end up in the same place Ken, if ya don't get out now. Why? Why don't ya leave? It's killin' ya to stay and ya know it!" Erik was almost pleading with Ken to take the road he himself could not.

_Yes, it will kill me most likely_, Ken thought. But it would kill him to leave as well. "I can't, Erik!" It came out a little more harshly than he had intended, Ken's anger at the situation leaking into his voice. " I can't just leave my family behind. I have responsibilities!"

There was that hated word again. It sent Erik over the edge this time. "Damn it Ken!" Erik grabbed Ken by the shoulder, "Don't ya get it?"

Abruptly the air changed. Ken's breath became rapid and short. His heart pounded in his chest as Eric's grip became almost painful. Something changed in Eric as well, his eyes widening marginally. Erik leaned over Ken. Panic swept through Ken's body. Ken didn't understand what the hell he was feeling or what was about to happen, but he knew he needed to get out now! Ken jumped up so fast it was a miracle that they didn't bump heads. Erik sat there on the ground, panting for a moment.

" I got to go." Ken rushed the words as he found his clothes at the edge of the river where he'd thrown them.

Erik made no move to stop him.

As Ken made his way back home in the moonlight, he went over and over what had just occurred. He had felt something when Erik had leaned over him. That feeling exited and terrified him all at the same time. This was Erik! His best friend, for Christ sakes. It was more than a little weird. Whatever the hell had just happened, he was sure as hell going to make sure it didn't happen again.

* * *

Erik didn't return home until late. After Ken had made a hasty exit, Erik had been rooted to the spot where he'd almost kissed his best friend. He had wanted nothing more than to press his lips against the brunet and let him know exactly what he wanted. For the first time he knew without a doubt what he wanted in life and that too, had been unattainable. Damn! He was so impulsive, and now he may have scared Ken off, and that wasn't what he had wanted at all.

He walked in through the main foyer of the house feeling damn lousy. His father, hearing him come in, took the time to crumble his dreams that much more.

"Erik Krause, do you have any idea what time it is?"

Erik made no show of recognition to his father, as he stood in the entryway of his father's library. He knew his father well enough to know when the man was going to lay into him. Though it was rarely ever with physical blows, the verbal tirade was equally vicious.

"Damn you boy! Where the hell have you been?" Mr. Krause stood at his desk, eyes narrowed with disgust at his son, " You good for nothing whelp. Filthy, low breed, good-for-nothing lazy bastard. Do you hear a word I'm saying?"

Erik had his head slightly bowed, but he smirked, as he thought of an answer for the ridiculous question his father had imposed. The words that ran through his head were sure to get him the beating of his life so he chose to keep quiet and kept his head low.

"You were out with that filthy mongrel again, weren't you?" The elder Krause's voice rose in realization.

At that, Erik did raise his eyes, and there was fire in them, though he still chose to remain silent. He wanted to let his father know that Ken was off limits when it came to the nightly lectures on how Erik was unfit to bear the Krause name.

" You are not to see that boy again. You are my son, and I will not allow you to disgrace my name by mixing yourself with the dogs. Do you understand me?" His father bellowed.

"Father!" Erik was more than angered by his father's refusal to let him continue his friendship with Ken. Erik would go to work for his father, he would dress in those stuffy business suits and sign boring contracts all day long. Hell, he'd work in the mines if he had too, but Erik would not give up his best friend.

"Not another word on the subject. I never want to hear about you seeing that boy again.''

"Or what? What will you do father? You already have me jumping through hoops. Hell, I'm your God dammed lap dog!" Erik's voice shook with anger, "What more do you want?"

The elder Krause looked flatly at his son. He saw the challenge in his eyes.

" How many brothers does that Mallory boy have, isn't it five or something?"

Erik wasn't sure where the questioning was going, so he answered. " Three. He has three brothers. Why?"

"Only three huh? Still breed like rabbits." Mr. Krause waved his arm out toward the window, in the direction of the mining settlement, " I was just thinking that, with that many family members down there, it must be hard to keep track of them all, you know? A light goes out, scaffolding breaks, a tunnel collapses. I'd hate to see anything happen."

Erik took a quick step forward as his rage flared to life."How dare you! You have no right!" He snarled.

"No, my boy, how dare you." Mr. Krause said, smugly satisfied. " How dare you forget who you are talking too. I made my fortune from the ground up. I have given you the kind of life most people only dream of. This is my legacy and I will not let you destroy that because you're a worthless wretch that won't grow up and do what he's told. You will do everything I tell you to, down to the very last letter or I will see that boy and his family to the grave! Do we understand each other?"

Erik stood there as fury and helplessness washed over him. Had he been holding a gun, he would have shot the man he called father.

"Yes, Father," he spat out.

" Good. You will start in the office tomorrow," Mr. Krause said almost amiably, as if nothing had transpired and he hadn't just threatened the lives of Erik's friend's family. " You may go."

Erik turned on his heel and left the library without a word. In his shocked anger, he hardly registered going upstairs. He would not, could not do his father's bidding based on a threat. He'd done many things to earn his father's wrath, including being born apparently, but Ken! Ken had never done a thing other than to be his friend. Erik would see to it that Ken would be safe. He would get out of this hated life, and he would make sure that his father could never hurt either of them again.

* * *

The rest of the week passed quickly. Ken hadn't seen Erik since their moonlight swim. While he was relieved, he couldn't help but feel a bit saddened. Something had changed between him and Erik that he wasn't quite sure what it was. When Saturday evening had come around, he was infinitely grateful, for Sunday was their one day off. He would have more than enough time to sleep in, reflect on what exactly had happened between himself and Erik, and maybe, just maybe pour himself a nice hot bath.

It was a nice night. Supper had long since been served and the moon had risen. The small mining establishment had grown quiet, and all of the Mallory family had taken to the porch to enjoy the cool night air.

Da was in his chair again, the slight creaking broken only by the sound of dice hitting the wooden porch.

"I win!"

"Did not."

"Yes, I did. Don't you see? That's a one and a five, even you can count that high."

"Michael. James. Quit your squabbling will you? I'm trying to read!" Danny sighed in frustration.

"Danny, you've read that book enough times that you must know it by heart now," Michael said.

" I'm helping Ken with some of these words. Knock it off."

" It's not like he's gonna need it anyhow." James said.

" That's enough, James." Da had now gotten into the mix, and Da's word was law. " You should take to bettering yerselfs too. Someday I'll be gone, and I don't want you boys to be stuck here all yer lives."

Da hardly ever spoke like that, so no one knew quite what to say.

Ken thought about his conversation with Erik earlier that week. The thought passed as Ken saw a rider come up the path. Ken recognized it to be one of the foremen from the Krause Mining Company. He was coming their way.

The horse neared the porch and the rider looked pleased that he wouldn't have to dismount.

"Mr. Mallory. Boys." He nodded, " We got a new contract, and Krause wants to start right away. Five o'clock early." The man smiled. He was the only one who thought of this as good news, of course.

"But it's Sunday tomorrow," Michael whined in protest.

" Yeah, I know, but what the boss says, goes right? I need at least a hundred men down there tomorrow. You boys up for it?" The foreman eyed all of them.

Da spoke up, " Well, it's not like we can't use the money, right boys?" Leave it to Da to see opportunity.

"Yes, Da." All four of them replied, though none with any real enthusiasm.

"Alright then, see you there." The rider left, going to the next cabin to find more bodies for work in the morning.

" You heard 'im boys. Off to bed with you," Da said gruffly.

"Da..." Ken never protested, but he loved to read, and he hardly ever got the time.

" You too, Ken." Da answered softly.

"Yes, Da." Ken let out a disappointed sigh. Danny closed the book as Ken unwillingly pulled himself upright from the wooden porch. Each of the boys giving their Da a kiss on the forehead good night, Ken being last.

As Ken moved away, his Da took his hand. Ken looked up, surprised.

"You know Ken, with the overtime and such, its 'bout time we bought another book fer the library."

Ken squeezed his hand back. "Thanks Da. G'night"

"G'night boy."

* * *

As soon as the workers had left the mine on Saturday evening, Erik put his plan into motion. He took his time, making his way down the main shaft. For all his eighteen years, his father had never had a kind word for his only son. And never had he talked to Erik about anything that hadn't to do with the mine. That mine was the root of all Erik's problems. He would make all his problems go away. He hated the coal, hated the mine and hated his father.

Erik took the map in his back pocket out. There was the main shaft, with several other smaller, but just as productive shafts branching out. But before the mine was as productive as it was today, there had been a couple of lesser-known caverns that had been closed off long since.

Erik wanted the whole thing gone, and to do that he needed to take down the main shaft. He scanned the map again, making sure his notations were correct. Running right under the main shaft, was a smaller one that had been closed off a good eight years before hand. Only a couple feet away from the abandoned shaft was a well that had already been tapped. All Erik needed to do was connect the two. The water would fill that smaller cavern, weakening the floor of the main cavern. When that collapsed, everything would fall in around it, and the mine would be lost.

It was a brilliant plan, he thought. Who knew, maybe his father would have a heart attack over the whole thing. One thing was sure, with the mine gone, he would be free, and so would Ken.

Erik surveyed his work for the last time. The water was running freely now, right into the lower cavern. It would take hours to take effect, but the result would be spectacular.

* * *

It started out as a low rumble, then a load roar. Erik opened his eyes to the morning sun and wondered what in the world was going on. The roof was shaking and he could hear glass rumbling downstairs. He sat up and panicked before he remembered what he'd done the night before. It had taken less time than he had thought. Well, he was up now, and he desperately wanted to see the look on his father's face when he realized that his precious money making mine was all gone.

Grinning, he got out of bed and washed his face in the basin. As he took his time getting dressed, he thought of Ken. Would Ken be willing to run off with him? At any rate, the Mallory family would be looking for work, and that meant travel. Maybe they could go west together.

As Erik made his way downstairs, he heard the servants in a commotion. No doubt, his father had collapsed with the news about the mines.

"Master Krause!" The head butler and keeper of the house rushed up the stair to greet him. Erik tried to act surprised.

"What has happened, Lyle?"

"Master Krause, come quickly, the mine. It's collapsed! It's gone!"

"Lyle, calm down. Where's my father?" Erik kept a calm but mildly surprised façade.

"You don't understand, Master Krause!" Lyle's eyes as wide as saucers, Lyle grabbed Erik's sleeve, in an attempt to make him understand the desperate situation. " He was there! In the mine! They all were!"

Eric's heart stopped.

"WHAT! It's Sunday! " Erik couldn't breath. It just couldn't be. Nobody was at the mines on a Sunday. No one was supposed to be there at all.

"It was a new contract, Master Krause. A man came by last night to sign the papers. Your father sent me to look for you, but you were gone. He sent one of the foremen out to get a crew ready for today. This morning, he took the man out to inspect the mines, along with a crew."

"Oh God!" Erik's knees gave out and he had to sit on the step so he wouldn't fall over. He slid his hands into his hair and rocked himself, trying to stay the nausea he was feeling.

"I'm so sorry, Master Krause." Lyle of course thought that Erik's concern was for his father, and put a reassuring hand on Erik's back, " Is there anything I can do?"

Erik got a hold of himself and stood, putting on a business facade his father would have been proud of.

"How many?" he whispered.

"I'm not entirely sure, Master Krause." Lyle stepped out of Erik's way to let him pass.

"I've got to get down there." Erik rushed out of the house.

* * *

As he neared the mine he could hear wailing, screaming, and men issuing orders. It looked like an absolute was zone. Wives and daughters had come to seek out their husbands, fathers and brothers. The few men who had been on the outside when the mine had collapsed were now trying to dig out any survivors. Erik dismounted his horse, not even bothering to tie up the animal, in complete shock at the entire situation.

A man with dark hair and a rusty complexion shook his sleeve, "Sir, what do we do?"

Erik paused, trying to gather his thoughts. He really didn't know what to do. "Dig!" he yelled.

Hours went by, and the digging went on. The mass that had gathered earlier was strangely silent. They had pulled out body after body, and much hope had diminished with each one. Erik had taken to digging alongside the many mineworkers his father had employed. He had found out that the entire Mallory family, including his Ken, had been down there, in the death trap that he'd built.

The bodies were piled high by evening. Seventy-three and counting. His was father among those that had been in the main shaft itself. They had been crushed. Erik finally took a break, and let someone lead him away to a tent that had been set up for the rescue effort. He drank some water and sat outside the tent looking at the pile of corpses.

It was then that the entirety of the situation set in. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone. No one was supposed to be there. But he had killed every one of those people as surely as he had pulled a gun out and shot them to death. He was a murderer. _What had he done?_

There was some excited yelling back at one of the dig sites. Erik's head shot up. Maybe, just maybe... someone was still alive. More men had started running down to the site to dig, and then a commotion.

"It's a live one!" He heard through the yelling.

There was cheering, as a group dragged out a young man covered in soot from head to toe. He was wet and bleeding, but alive. As the procession made their way to the tent, Erik recognized the form to be his best friend. Ken was alive! Erik rushed out to meet them halfway, helping to support Ken's body.

"Ken!" Erik was relieved. He had thought for sure Ken had been lost with the rest.

Dazed and almost unconscious, Ken turned to the voice he recognized, "Erik?" It came out as a hoarse whisper, but Erik had never been happier in his life to hear his name fall from those lips.

"Yes Kenny, it's me. Hold on, were going to get a doctor right now. Don't talk.

But Ken couldn't hold back his anguish, "They're gone. All gone. Da, James, Danny...." he cried. "I tried...I couldn't find them..." Ken broke off in a coughing fit.

"Shhh. Ken. It'll be all right. We'll find them. We found you, didn't we?" Erik tried to placate Ken, knowing full well that Ken was probably right. Ken's voice tore at his heart. Erik himself had caused the pain that was there.

They found a cot in the tent, a doctor was already there. Ken had lost consciousness, but after the doctor examined him, Ken was declared to be something of a miracle, with only minor injuries. Erik should have been relieved. But all Erik could think about were the cries of the people outside who had lost loved ones.

Erik stayed with Ken through the night. In the morning, Ken still hadn't gained consciousness, so Erik went down the remnants of the mine to see if anything more could be done. He helped out where he could. The bodies kept coming up though. If they hadn't been crushed out right, they'd drowned or died of asphyxiation. There were over a hundred now. And the digging went on.

As another pocket of air was unearthed, Erik recognized the faces of the bodies being pulled out. He put down his shovel, just as he heard a strangled cry behind him. Ken was awake. He recognized the bodies too.

"NO!!" Ken ran down to the dig, but Erik caught him and held him back so he wouldn't inadvertently tumble more dirt on the people trying to get his father and brothers out of their muddy grave.

"Let me go dammit!" Ken struggled against him, but Erik held on, pulling him back farther.

"They're gone Ken. Let it go. Let it go Ken." Erik kept his voice calm. And that's all it took. Ken did let it go.

Ken's knees buckled and he fell, taking Erik with him. Ken couldn't control his sobs, and Erik found that he was crying as well, his guilt being too much to bear.

"I'm so sorry Ken. So sorry. I didn't mean it." Erik whispered to his sobbing friend, cradling Ken. "I didn't mean any of it. Please Ken. I'm sorry."

After a few minutes, Ken sobs died down, and he shifted to look at Erik, his red eyes disbelieving what he'd heard.

"Wha...what do you mean, you didn't mean it?"

Erik gave a start of surprise, realizing what he'd said.

"Erik, what do you mean? What did you do?" Ken grabbed Erik's shoulders.

Erik couldn't speak. What could he say? That he'd killed Ken's family and about a hundred others by accident, just to get away from his father's clutches?

"Ken..I ..I..."

Just as Erik was about to speak, a rough hand pulled Ken up by the collar.

"What the hell..." Ken started, momentarily forgetting Erik's almost confession.

Erik stood up and realized there was a group of fifteen, maybe twenty men from the mines directly behind Ken. The faces he recognized because he'd dug alongside them for the last day and a half. They looked angry, and it all seemed to be directed at Ken.

"What's the meaning of this?" Erik asked, standing and brushing himself off.

"We know how the mine caved in." The burly workers eyes were full of hatred and for a moment, Erik thought maybe these men had overheard him and Ken.

"This man..." The man holding Ken shoved him to the ground and before the brunette could right himself, someone else kicked and knocked the wind out of him. " This man was in charge of the underground well. He opened up the well, left it running all night long."

Another man yelled, "It's all his fault. He murdered our families, our friends."

"No..." Ken tried to get up, but hands were upon him then, some holding, some punching. People in grief were sometimes the most dangerous. They didn't want to hear Ken, they just wanted someone to pay for what they had lost. They had found their someone.

Erik looked on in horror. He tried to push the men away, but they were bigger, and far angrier than he first thought. They were out for blood.

In a last ditch effort, Erik rammed his body against the mob, trying to get to Ken before they killed him. He fell in between the men, and grabbed at the hem of one of their shirts to keep from being trampled. He felt something hard under the shirt and grabbed. It was a gun! As he grabbed it, the owner took no notice, too caught up in the fight.

A shot rang out, and everybody froze where they were. Erik was holding a smoking gun out above his head, eyes wide with terror for his friend. Ken was on the ground, face bloodied. The other men stared at Erik as if he'd gone insane.

"Hey! What the hell are you stoppin' us for?" One of the mob called out. Others yelled out angrily.

It was then that Erik realized that most of these men did not know who he was, dressed in working clothed and covered with mud. He was unwilling to explain, however. His eyes were on Ken. "Ken! Get up."

The men weren't willing to let go of their pray that easily, and held Ken where he was.

Erik pointed the gun at the mob.

"Let him up, I say." Erik persisted.

"But he.." One of the men started to say.

Erik fired off another round into the air before turning the gun back to the hostile men.

"Let. Him. Up! " Erik let the mob know he wasn't going to discuss it further.

Rough hands let Ken go, shoving him to the ground. Ken rolled to his knees and stood unsteadily, facing Erik.

"Come here Ken," Ken limped over, confusion and pain in his eyes.

"Take my horse Ken. It's up the hill. Get away from here," Erik urged.

"Erik..did you?"

Erik caught his eyes for a moment, "I'm sorry." Words weren't enough to express how sorry he was for all that he'd caused, but it was all he could give Ken at that moment. The men started to crowd in a little, not wanting to let him go. Ken made it up the hill and mounted the horse, he looked back for only a moment before and riding away.

The crowd had started to realize the Erik, while armed, didn't have the guts to shoot anyone. And they were angry, at Ken's exit and the blood debt left undone. The gun was yanked out of Erik's hand as a fist caught him in the jaw. If they couldn't have Ken's blood, they'd take Erik's.

* * *

Ken rushed through his family's cabin like wildfire, taking the few things of value his family had owned. It wasn't much... a picture, a tea plate that was his mother's favorite and the cash they'd been saving for winter. He took a cursory look around the cabin, knowing it would be the last time he'd see it, and shut the door.

As he moved off the porch, something caught his eye. The book that he and Danny had been reading the night before was on the table by Da's rocking chair. His favorite book. He grabbed it and stuffed it into his carpetbag and mounted Erik's horse. He paused for one last sorrowful look at the only home he'd ever known, before turning to go down a road that would lead him into the unknown.

* * *

Erik came into consciousness, face down in the mud. He rolled over, trying to ignore the stabs of pain in his ribcage. No one took any note of him. Hell, maybe they just thought he was another body. It hurt to keep his eyes open, he could tell his whole face was swollen.

In the distance, he could hear passing conversation. The body count was up to 112, with 9 still missing. One hundred and twelve people were dead because of his selfishness. Gone. Fathers who would no longer provide for their families, sons who would never grow old. And he was guilty of their deaths. Every last one of them.

"Boy! Are you all right? What are you doing?" An older woman had noticed 'the body' had open eyes and was breathing. She bent over him, concern in her eyes. "You look terrible! Where's your family? What's your name?"

Erik gave a bitter laugh, or would have, if not for the pain when he tried to breathe. His family was dead, and he had a name not worth bearing. Guilty.

"Schuldig." _And he was_. He was guilty.

The woman was obviously not of German decent, or she may have understood. Instead, she tried to help him up, and offered him some water from a pail she'd been carrying. Erik was quick to realize that he'd not been recognized because of the dirt and the bruises. For that, he was grateful.

"I suggest you find somewhere else to rest, Schuldig. It's dangerous right here with all the work going on."

She'd mangled the German terribly, but at least she'd gotten the title right. He stood shakily, looking upon the pile of corpses some yards away, while grieving loved ones tried to identify their own.

He muttered thanks to the woman, and started up the hill. Ken was gone now and even if he found him, Ken would hate him. No one could ever forgive what he'd done. He had too many deaths on his conscience. He started walking away from the mines, away from the city, and away from his former life. There was nothing left to go back to.

He would keep the one thing he had earned, his name....

_Schuldig._ It fit. It would be the label he would carry, from now until he found his own grave.

* * *

Okay-dokie folks, up for a little history? C'mon you know you want to read it.

Between 1800 – 1844 more than 600,000 Irish immigrants came into America. During the 'Potato Famine' that struck Ireland (1845-1850) the numbers went up drastically, as families tried to survive by leaving their homeland.

With the unnatural burst on immigration and the overflow of Irish, an unfavorable feeling spread throughout the country for them. The hostility came from the overcrowding of cities unable to deal with the overwhelming numbers, starving and sick. These were working class people, with little education, unskilled, and owning little to nothing.

Adding to this, was the fact that most of the Irish immigrants were Catholic, where America had strong Protestant traditions. This might help explain some of Erik's fathers' ill will for Ken's family.

Without a marketable trade most of these poor souls ended up in mills, factories and mines. **Mining** was, and is still quite possibly the most dangerous profession there is. These men and, yes sometimes children, worked under the constant threat of fire, explosions, cave-in's and other various hazards.

Fatalities from coal mining (B) in Pennsylvania from the year 1877 to today number over 20,000 in Pa. alone. This does not include other types of mining( Steel, quartz, ect.), injuries, or deaths due to 'Black Lung Disease' caused by breathing coal dust. Note that Ken's father coughed frequently, sometimes blood, symptoms of the disease.

**Pittsburgh** itself sits on top of a region ripe for coal mining. There were also many other mines in this region, including steel. The mines of course were not in town, just as the townships where the miners lived were also located outside of the city.

The Krause family would have lived in a cozy home, nothing short of a mansion fit with servants, on one of the main streets in Pittsburgh, and would have been quite an influential family. As opposed to the Mallory family, who would have lived within walking distance to the mines, in cabins and shacks built close to each other, as these people were a close knit community. The land was not only not their own, but was unfit for farming due to the processes of mining.

Many mine owners took advantage of the miner's poor situation by paying them in vouchers, only good at the company store, so to make them more dependant.

Pennsylvania had a large German population, an immigration that started as far back as the 1700's. Incidentally the term 'Pennsylvania Dutch' does not mean that these people were actually came from Holland. 'Dutch' is for 'Deutsch' meaning 'German' in the German language. But I'm getting off track. A large part of German immigrants settled in Pittsburgh among other cities, and for the most part tried to keep their language and culture intact.

I'm writing on the assumption that Erik (Now Schuldig) is maybe second generation German. He would more than likely know some German, though he may not speak it as fluently as his father, and he may have a bit of an accent if his family stayed in close contact with other Germans. It would seem to me that that is what the elder Krause would have wanted of his son.

Ken is first generation, born into the US. His father and mother coming over directly from Ireland with their young son Danny. The rest of the boys born in the states. Mr. Mallory would have refrained from teaching the boys Gaelic, and tried to shrug off as much of the accent as possible, wanting them to better acclimate to the American way of life.

This is the biggest loss, I feel, because this is where Americans lose much of their history.

And as a personal note, there were many other states with coal mines I could have chosen. The reason I chose Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is because of my husbands' family. His great great great grandfather came here from Poland (Russia) and worked in the mines in Pittsburgh, sending the money home to his wife and son's until they had enough to make the trip themselves. It was at the Ellis Island that his family's name was changed, shortened, so that it was speakable in English. More history lost in the process.

Another quick little note:

I realize it would have taken days, if not weeks to find all those bodies and find out what happened. I speed up the process just a bit.

Did ya know that was Schu? Did ya ? Laughs


	3. The Big Easy

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* * *

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_London, England 1835_

He would have inherited it all.

She had destroyed him.

It wasn't the rumors that had done him in, but trust. He had trusted her with a secret so damaging, that to tell her, proved the depths of his love. And in proving his love, he had hoped that she would in turn consent to his marriage proposal.

But it was all for naught. She wasn't interested in marrying him. She had wanted to destroy him. He was, after all, a bastard.

Conceived in wedlock, but by another man. His father had always suspected. After all, no one on either side of the families had that unearthly shade of green eyes. When the Marquis' son had gone through his late mother's things, he'd found the letters. He discovered why his mother had always gazed upon him with a certain sad wistfulness, whilst his father's looks were nothing short of veiled hatred.

But the young man had fallen in love with an enticingly beautiful, albeit evil little thing. He was so taken, that he would do anything to have her. Expensive and exotic gifts were nothing. She was already rich and more titled then himself.

He could not offer her anything she did not already have, so in his naivety, he offered himself. He told her everything there was to know, confident that his love and trust would be the greatest gift of all. She had cruelly laughed in his face. How could she, one of the most beautiful, well bred women in society, taint herself with someone so questionable? She accused his mother of being no better than a harlot. Her words cut him deeply. Until that night, Youji had never known such humiliation.

It wasn't enough that she had thrown away his love and torn his pride. She had accused him publicly. He was sure there wasn't a place in all of England that hadn't heard of his mother's disgrace. Now his own.

His reputation was tarnished. Slowly, the invitations had stopped coming. His friends no longer called on him, making excuses of previous engagements. No one would tell him to his face, but Youji wasn't an idiot, he heard the murmurs behind his back

The final cut had been from his father. The man he'd grown up knowing as his father, had disowned him. While the man had been cold, he was still the only family Youji had known. The Marquis made it clear that neither the title nor fortune would be handed down. Youji was told he was not even fit to carry the Wilmington name.

And so the young man left in shame and anger. He took what little had belonged to him and, using his mother's maiden name, left the only life he'd ever known. He gained passage aboard a ship that would take him to a new world, and a new life.

Youji Le Clair would forget, and he would make a new life with his new name, in America.

* * *

_New Orleans, 1838_

_The present (and where the rest of this fic will take place)_

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* * *

He exuded the persona of boredom.

Youji stretched out in his chair, legs resting up on the railing, and tipped his Panama ever so lightly over his eyes, pretending to take a midday nap. From his location on the porch of one of the newest, most sophisticated hotels in town, he could see down the block in both directions. The night before was something of a blur. Drink and cards. Cards and drink. Maybe a little too much of both. But tonight he planned to find himself a nice little Philly to dally with.

Speaking of which...he glanced at the approaching dark eyed brunette. She looked scrumptious, but as she passed by, he noticed the ring. Married women were definitely off limits. A blonde with corkscrew curls came from the other direction, wearing peach taffeta and a quaint southern bonnet. She looked young and coy. She also looked slightly familiar.

Suddenly he wished he HAD been taking a nap. The young woman he'd been on eying suddenly spotted him on the porch. She gasped, the look of outrage clear on her dainty features. Before he could make a hasty exit, she marched up the wooden porch, parasol in hand.

"Mister LeClair!" she shouted indignantly.

Youji straightened his hat and cringed. He knew he should say something to stop the tirade that was coming to him. But before he could come up with a proper excuse for not calling on the little tart again, she clubbed him with her lace parasol.

Now, it wasn't that he wasn't expecting such an attack that caught him off guard. It was that the chair he had been occupying tilted with the blow and with his feet up on the railing the way they were, there was no way to right himself. He went sprawling onto the wooded landing.

It occurred to him then, that he should have just stayed in bed that morning.

He stood up and dusted off his vest before reaching for his hat. As he righted the chair he'd been sitting in, he realized that the peach cupcake was still shrieking at him. She reminded him of a bird of sorts. As pretty as the chit was to look at, the very sound of her voice sent shivers up his spine. He never even slept with her for God sakes, and could not figure out why she was so hell bent on making a scene. He'd maybe lead her on a little bit- well ok, a lot- but only till he realized that he simply could not sleep with someone whose very voice made him want to go out and kill something. He left her untouched, albeit rather abrupt and alone. She seemed to have taken it rather badly.

"Now now, little peach.." He tried to placate. For the life of him, he could not remember her name.

"...and furthermore..." She kept going.

"Peaches...dear...listen... I only ..."

**_Whack!_** Again the parasol had become a weapon. Though this time she'd hit him on the shoulder instead of squarely on top of his head, it still hurt.

Apparently she was done talking. She gave Youji a disdainful look before turning on her heel, and leaving Youji to gape in her wake.

He was suddenly, acutely aware of the stares of dozens of passerby's and hotel guests'. With as much dignity as he could find under the circumstances, he adjusted his hat once more and walked off the porch and down the street.

Youji decided, maybe a girl wasn't what he needed after all. A drink, however would do quite nicely.

* * *

Reaching the square he had a few choices as to where he might spend his afternoon. Still contemplating, he watched as shoppers made the last of their purchases from the vendors in the market area of the square.

Across the way from himself he spied an older gentleman guiding a young child to a particular cart. There were still many people in the market place for that time of day, late afternoon, but his excellent people watching skills honed in on a body in the crowd.

He didn't know what it was that caught his eye, but he kept watching the boy passed by. The boy didn't stand out really, and couldn't have been more than a mere child dressed in worn clothing. A mop of blond hair peaked out from beneath a cap, shading the boy's eyes, which looked to be downcast, and not paying attention to the goings on around him.

But as Youji watched, he saw the lift. Not perceivable but to the few who knew what to look for, the boy managed to take the wallet of the gentleman walking by at that same moment. The gentlemen kept walking in the opposite direction, unaware of his loss. The boy was good. Youji commended him on the art.

The little girl with the gentlemen squealed in delight as they neared a doll seller's cart, their apparent destination.

"There, Papa, there it is! I want the dolly with the blue dress, please!"

The young thief, who was also still in earshot abruptly stopped. For days, Youji would think on the scene that took place. Youji watched as the would be felon turned and again passed by the older gentleman and young girl. Again Youji watched the smooth maneuver, but unlike before, the boy had not taken anything – he replaced the wallet safely back into the man's overcoat, and kept walking.

"Thank you so much, papa." The little girl hugged her new much loved toy, as the man pulled out his wallet, never knowing it had been missing, and paid for the item.

As the boy shuffled down the street, he glanced backwards at the little girl, half-smiling at the child's happiness. It was then, Youji realized what had caught his attention in the first place. Under the cap and mop of dirty blond hair, were the most soulful blue eyes he'd ever seen in his life. A thief with a conscience. Who woulda thought?

* * *

The drinks kept coming until well into the night. His lap was occupied with one of the showgirls lending him her luck at cards, and the party-like atmosphere was in full swing. Despite it all, he simply could not drown out the feeling that maybe, there was something he was missing.

"Drinks all round!" he shouted. Youji laid his cards on the table, knowing it was a winning hand.

The girl on his lap congratulated him with another kiss, and shoved her bodice in front of him so that he could tip his good luck charm. The smell of her cheap perfume suddenly became overwhelming. He promptly shoved a couple loose dollars between her breasts, and announced to the room that it was time to retire for the night.

Though there were a few sounds of disappointment, mostly from those enjoying his free drinks, everyone at the card table was more than happy to see him leave. One last drink and he was out the door.

The cold air outside was a slap in the face compared to the staleness of the saloon. It wasn't quite yet fall, but the weather was cooling rapidly. It was a brisk walk back from Bourbon Street. Keeping out of the street as to not dirty his brand new leather Wellingtons had been a trick though. You just never knew _what_ you were going to step into in the dark.

Rounding the corner, he was in sight of the hotel when something brushed past him, almost too light to feel.

He turned to see a retreating figure, obviously just another drunk too busy with himself to notice the rudeness of his actions.

Not giving it another thought, Youji kept on going to the hotel, but halted when he stepped on something soft. In the dark he could not see what it was, so he picked it up and held it out towards the street lantern. It was a cap, one he'd seen earlier that day.

Abruptly he felt his right front vest pocket.

"Son of a bitch..." Youji broke out in a run.

That little imp had lifted _his_ wallet.

The next twenty minutes were spent in a game of cat and mouse. The kid had led him on a merry chase but that was about to end. He waited in the dark, just past the last alley he'd seen the boy run into. Sure enough, a shadow moved into the light and Youji caught the wrist of one little hellcat.

"Lemme go!" The boy twisted and went for his shin, which Youji sidestepped gracefully.

"You, dear child, owe me a wallet," he said patiently.

"Haven't got one," the boy retorted, still trying to pull away, and almost succeeding. He was putting up one hell of a fight, but Youji's grip did not loosen.

"Then I guess I shall whistle for the authorities and you can work it out with them." Youji remained calm.

The fight went out of the young blond, and he sighed deeply. "Oh hell. Here's your bloody wallet." He said, pulling it out of his pocket.

Youji took the item, putting it back in his vest pocket, never relinquishing his grasp on the youth's wrist.

"Well..?" Clearly, the boy was waiting to be freed.

Youji studied his captor. It was dark, but he could make out the outline of fine blond hair and intelligent round eyes in the moonlight. The boy was older than he first appeared, and looking at him more closely now, Youji could tell that the boy was clearly exhausted. Probably hungry too. His clothes had obviously seen better days and he was in dire need of a bath. Youji himself was not one for charity, and so when the thought came to him, he almost dismissed it, but then he looked into those eyes.

"C'mon kid," Youji said, starting to drag the unnamed youth along with him.

"Wait! You said you wouldn't turn me in!" The boy said, struggling once again.

"I said no such thing. But no, I'm not going to turn you in, at least not yet."

"Well... it was implied." The captive replied dismally, letting himself be walk-dragged.

Youji arched an eyebrow at that. Street rats and the like, did not use such words as 'implied'.

"When's the last time you ate and had a bath, kid?"

"'Wine maketh merry; but money answereth all things'." The kid laughed bitterly. He then assumed a haughty English accent and added, "After I have an extensive meal back at the mansion, I go out and roll in filth, just to go pick pocketing." The young blond rolled his eyes. "What do you think moron?" He paused like an idea had just come to him. "Look, you're not a missionary are ya, cause I gotta tell you..."

Youji had to laugh at that. "No, kid, I'm no missionary. Just a concerned citizen. You look like you could use a hot meal, that's all."

"Oh great," the boy said, sarcastically. "I'm no charity case. Just a little down on my luck, is all." The kid went back to his street banter, apparently unaware that he'd already let his education slip out.

Youji eyed him for a moment before continuing. This kid was most definitely a paradox.

When they came to the hotel that Youji was staying at, Youji gave his captive a once over again. He decided to walk around the back to the service entrance. Dragging a dirty adolescent through the main lobby was sure to get him some unwanted attention.

Youji got the boy up the flight of stairs without incident, but when he opened the door, the kid started to protest again.

"Look, I didn't know we were going back to your room and I don't want to be a bother, so I'll just go, alright? You wont see me again, I promise." The kid's eyes started to dart back to the stairs and he looked genuinely nervous.

"Geez, kid. Listen, you got to clean up before I take you to get something to eat. No one is going to feed us with you looking like that," Youji said gesturing to the boy's clothes.

"You want me to remove my clothes? No. Thanks, but no thanks," the kid squirmed again, as Youji tried to pull him through the door.

This time the blond boy pushed forward and then yanked, freeing his wrist. Youji hadn't been expecting a move like that, and stumbled backward across the room, hitting his head on the nightstand. The last thing he remembered was seeing the blonds' horrified face, and then he saw nothing at all.

* * *

The curtains weren't shut the night before. Of that, he was certain, because his eyelids blazed red and gold as he came into awareness. The next thing he was aware of was the mounting headache that had woken him in the first place. He struggled to open his eyes. When he achieved that small victory he sat up. His head hurt like hell. What the hell did he _do_ last night, and was she worth it?

Youji pulled at the sheets on his bed. For some reason, they were not cooperating. Apparently he'd been tucked in. As if that wasn't strange enough, when he looked down he noticed he was still in his clothes, minus the boots, which were at the foot of the bed. He groaned, trying to remember the events that had lead him to go to bed fully clothed, but not entirely alone, as he could not have pulled the covers around himself so tightly.

_The kid!_

Youji started. Rubbing his head, he looked around the room. Finding it empty, he laid back down to process the events of the night before. The boy had been terrified at the prospect of going into Youji's room, which Youji had realized just a tad too late. When he hit his head, he must have blacked out. The kid had thought to take Youji's boots off, and tuck him into bed. Something about that made Youji smile... until...

...his hand went to his right vest pocket.

"Son of a bitch!"

* * *

Notes and boring, er... fun stuff:

Note that Youji is from London, England when he fled to the states, and it is his mother's name that he uses and not his fathers. His father was a Marquis, married a French Duchess. Love matches were few and far between. Most marriages would be for the gain of something, be it a title or a dowry. These weren't forced marriages, per say, but something that was ingrained and society expected of them. Youji was a romantic, falling in love with someone more titled (and twisted) than him, such was his downfall.

New Orleans is located in Louisiana, which became the 18th American state on April 30 1812, and was part of the original Louisiana Purchase. (Imagine that!) Located right on the Mississippi River, Orleans ports were only second to New York. New Orleans heritage dates well back into the 1700's, but more recently, it is known for its eclectic culture, jazzy atmosphere, and hedonistic approach in life. Believe me, Youji fit right in here.

The places I mentioned are very real, and located inside the French Quarter of New Orleans. The square I refer to is Jackson Square (named as such in honor of Andrew Jackson in 1850), and it is where the Louisiana Purchase was actually signed. It was used as a market place, and a place to socialize as well as a drill field at one time. Today I believe it is a public park.

Bourbon Street was where the party was at, and still is, more so today if fact, filled with bars, jazz halls, and culturally atmospheric restaurants.

The quote used by that unnamed blond street rat, was from Ecclesiastics 10:19.

And yes, I believe you will see him again.(grins)

* * *


	4. Lawman

* * *

Republic of Texas

1838

* * *

"Dammit McClellen, wait up!"

The redhead pulled up on his reins and brought his horse to a stop, keeping his look of discontentment to himself. Moments later, a second horse pulled up alongside the first, the rider obviously irritated at having to play catch-up.

"Ya know Ran, you're only punishing the horse when ya ride like that. It isn't her fault you're pissed," he said roughly.

Ran looked to the horizon, effectively ignoring his partner.

"Look, Ran," the gray haired man softened his voice. "I know you want to get going, but you got an obligation."

Ran brought his hand up to his chest and fingered the five-pointed gold star that was pinned there. Abruptly, he put his arm down again, grabbing the reins tightly."My obligations lay somewhere else, Bill. I should have left when I got my commission."

"Ya know, you are one damn lucky son of a bitch. Going from one of the youngest Texas Rangers to _the _youngest US Marshal. You can't just up and leave without finishing what you started." Bill sounded a bit exasperated, but sighed, understanding Ran's agitation. "It's been four years Ran, a couple of weeks won't make a difference." Bill grinned."Besides, I wanted to ride with ya one last time. Chasing' the bad guys just isn't gonna be the same without ya."

Ran looked back at his partner with genuine smile. Ran had met Bill as a neighbor, shortly after arriving in Texas. The lonely widower and Ran had become fast friends. Bill had understood Ran, where his uncle could not. Ran had loved and respected his uncle until the day his uncle had passed away. After all, he had taken the teen in when Ran had nowhere else to go. The both of them had decided to move to Texas shortly after.

But his uncle could never understand what drove Ran to pick up a gun. Bill had been Ran's only support when Ran decided to go into law enforcement. Bill had been deputized alongside. He didn't want the young man to be alone. Bill knew and understood why Ran needed to leave, why he had to keep his promise to those long dead.

"It's been an adventure, hasn't it?" Ran said, quietly.

"That it has, my boy.," Bill answered. Ran's smile dimmed knowing that he would be leaving behind a good friend. They had already talked about it. Bill loved Ran like a son, and would truly miss him, but Bill's own dead were buried here in Texas. Bill would not leave his wife, even after all these years, and it was something Ran could respect.

Bill caught Ran's gaze, and knew Ran was thinking of the same thing but neither wanted to dwell on it. "Shall we go?"

Ran snorted. "We still have a bad guy to catch, don't we? Hya! Ran pushed his steed into a run, ignoring the elder mans grumbling.

* * *

They reached the ranch just as the sun had started to set. As much as Bill grumbled at the pace Ran kept, they both wanted to get their man and be on their way. If this wasn't the right place, they'd head out in the morning.

No one paid them much mind as they brought their horses in. The ranch was large, with lots of hands to fill its needs. Most of ranch hands were calling it quits for the evening, but as Ran and Bill rode in, Ran noticed an uproar near the corral. Men were gathered all around the fence, whooping and whistling.

The men's excitement made Ran curious, and he slowed to see what the commotion was about. Inside the corral was a mustang, huffing in irritation, ready to bolt and looking very much like a force to be reckoned with. The steed was really a sight to behold, but what caught Ran's eye was not the horse.

It was the man standing in the corral with the angry animal. His shirtless back to Ran, he held his arms out in a non-threatening manner towards the beast. The dark haired man was almost as tall as Ran, the sun catching the sweat on his tanned body, defining the sleek muscles on the young man's perfect form.

"Beautiful, eh Ran?"

Ran turned to Bill, more than a little disturbed that his friend had picked that word right out of his head. Ran gave Bill a dumbfounded look.

"The horse." Bill prompted.

"Oh, the horse. Yeah...she's a beauty," Ran answered, turning his attention back to the corral.

"He, Ran. It's a stallion," Bill corrected. "What's with you?" Bill looked genuinely puzzled.

Ran ignored him, watching the brunette move slowly to the animal. The stallion bucked, and the man moved to the right and slowly went down on his knees. The animal whinnied and stomped but the young man did not move, other than to put his hands in front of himself, like an offering to the beast.

Ran held his breath, fearing the horse would stampede. He could see the young man's face now, tanned like the rest of his body, brown hair matted to his forehead with sweat. His expressive brown eyes willing the animal to trust him.

"He's gorgeous," Ran breathed, ignoring the other question.

The stallion made tentative steps forward, eyeing the brunette warily. The brunette whispered something so low, Ran couldn't hear the words, but the horse lowered his head into the young man's hands. In turn, the man rubbed the horse's muzzle, then slowly stood, still whispering quite assurances. And just like that, the tension between the two was gone.

Some men around the corral clapped, others exchanged monies. The rest walked away getting their rigs in order for the following work day, as if nothing had transpired at all. Maybe it had been too anti-climatic for some, but to Ran, it was breathtaking.

"Real piece of work," Bill said, leading his horse away, towards the barn. "Nothin' wrong with wanting something like that. Got spirit, he does."

Ran reluctantly followed Bill. "Nothing wrong with that ...nothin' at all," Ran admitted, not at all sure he was referring to the horse.

* * *

The proprietor of the ranch was a little hesitant to comply with the investigation. That was, until Ran took to persuading him. Ran was more than apt in this area. The only concession they made was that questioning would start in the morning.

They were up before dawn, of course. Ran was anxious, and Bill just tired, but both were ready to start questioning. Three weeks of investigation had lead them here. If Ran was right, they would find horse thieves on this ranch.

* * *

It took no longer than an hour to discover that there were indeed new horses on the ranch. The owner, Mr. Turner had sent a couple of his men to Abilene to purchase eight horses three weeks ago. Same time frame, same amount of horses stolen. After questioning the man further, Ran was sure that Mr. Turner was not involved in the theft itself, though he was sure that the stock in question was definitely on the ranch. Mr. Turner kept a log of all the stock, and the monies paid and received for all. That log was the only thing that saved Turner from a hanging, and it made Ran's job much easier. Eight horses purchased, July 14th, $950 paid, Abilene Texas. It was all there in the journal. There was a quick description of the stock, which matched those that had been stolen, along with the names of the men who made the purchase. Ran easily came to the conclusion that the men sent to purchase the horses had decided to steal them instead and pocketed the money for themselves. Stupid and foolish, Ran thought. But incredibly lucky for him and Bill.

Ran was on the hunt and he was close. Bill could see the gleam in Ran's eyes, the one he always got right before he made an arrest. It did not bode well for the arrestee.

One Ken Mallory was about to get his due for dragging Ran all over southern Texas when Ran could have been half way to Montana by now.

* * *

The barn was quiet and Ran could hear whispers coming down the corridor from a stall on the left. He left Bill to keep watch over the entry, just in case.

Ran checked the other stalls on the way down, finding them all empty, exept one at the very end. Ran held one hand close to his sidearm as he approached, listening to the whispers that suddenly sounded familiar.

The door to the stall was open and Ran slid inside unnoticed. He looked down at the man crouching over the front hoof of a mustang.

"There, there, now. Feel better?" The brown haired man stood up, patting the horse reassuringly. He was startled as he turned to see an unfamiliar Ran glaring at him.

"Uh, hi there...can I help you with something?" The brunette recovered quickly and grinned in greeting to Ran. Ran recognized him immediately from the night before and could feel his heart sink as he realized that there was nobody else in the barn but this young man. Ran hoped with all his heart that this was _not_ Ken Mallory.

"I'm looking for a Ken Mallory. Do you know where I can find him?" Ran asked.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you for another week. She's not ready to breed just yet. Did you talk to Mr. Turner? I thought I told him, but maybe I forgot, you know, with all the new horses being broke in and I ..."

Ran arched an eyebrow at the long litany. _Yup, no way this guy could be a horse thief. He couldn't even answer a simple question_. Ran cut him off. " I'm not here for that. If you could just point out where I can find Mr. Mallory."

"Oh, geez. Sorry. I didn't even introduce myself. " The young man looked for something to wipe his hands on, finding nothing, settled on his denim pants."Ken Mallory at your service," he said with a grin and put his arm out for a handshake.

Ran frowned, "I'm real sorry to hear that." And before Ken could figure out what the red head meant by that, Ken found himself cuffed at the wrists.

"Ken Mallory, by the power vested in me by the Republic of Texas you are hereby under arrest. You are charged with horse thievery and fraud."

* * *

Historical notes and fun stuff :

_The Republic of Texas_ existed from 1836 to 1845, and had its own sovereignty apart from the Union. Texas won its freedom from Mexico in a revolutionary war lead by Stephen Austin. At which time he became Secretary of State, and Sam Houston was elected President of the Republic of Texas.

Before the revolution Stephen Austin put together an elite group of men called _Rangers_. The Rangers grew as the Republic did, becoming a notorious group of lawmen, not subject to military regulation or local law. A Texas Ranger could go from on end of Texas to another. Their jobs were usually things that were a little bigger than the local law could handle, but smaller than needed for military action. They wore no uniform, and were paid $25 a month. They had to provide their own horse, saddle, pistol and knife, the state provided a rifle.

Catching a horse thief was probably a little beneath Ran as a Ranger, but it might have been asked of him if the local authorities had problems with jurisdiction issues. Ran has no bounds inside of Texas, and would be able to circumvent any problems that arose.

The most respected law enforcement agents on the frontier since 1789 were the _US Marshals_. This was a position appointed by the president and confirmed by congress, and could be changed along with the administration.

Because territories were so large it was not uncommon for a Marshal to be in charge of tens of thousands of square miles. Duties mainly consisted of federal crimes and crimes committed on Indian reservations but they could be summoned to duty if there is an even a threat of a federal law being broken.

They also guarded railroads and the mail, and had no boundaries at all. A marshal and his deputies belonged to no state and could not be tried for murder. To say that the position of US Marshal came with a lot of power would be an understatement.

I really have no idea as in age as far as Marshals are concerned but my guess is that Ran's age of 20 is quite young for this position. He would have had to have a reputation beyond reproach as a Ranger and more than likely knew somebody who knew somebody to have such a great honor bestowed.

Ran wants more than anything to go back to Montana and uncover the mystery surrounding his family's deaths. As a ranger he would have to give up his badge to do this, but as a Marshal he is free to pursue this and remain a lawman.

* * *


	5. A River of Trouble

**

* * *

**

**New Orleans**

* * *

Youji went through at least three emotions that morning when he woke up. Angry, with himself for being such a fool, and with the kid for taking his brand new alligator skin wallet. Scared, that the kid had cleaned him out. And intrigued, when Youji found that he had not.

As a matter of fact, the only thing the kid _had_ taken was the wallet. But the wallet itself held little more than a hundred dollars. The majority of his money, Youji kept in his boot. The boy had to have seen it when he had taken them off. Youji had been baffled to find that all of it was still there. Youji also had a number of expensive items out in plain sight. He had no doubt that the kid could have cleaned him out, had that been his intention. Being tucked into bed was a brand new experience, though. Youji wasn't at all sure how he felt about that yet.

The fact was, up until then, Youji had been rather bored. His life had become a blur of monotony. He needed an adventure. A challenge. He needed to get his wallet back.

* * *

It took eight days to track the little thief down, and even then, it was coincidence that brought the boy upon him once again.

The kid was a phantom. He must have been very good at what he did, because no one ever saw this kid. And Youji had looked. Really looked. Granted, New Orleans was a big place. But Youji had always prided himself on having connections. He was the kind of smooth talker that could get all kinds of information depending on who he talked to and how he led the conversation. But damn if this kid just didn't exist. Youji was beginning to believe that the chance meeting that had resulted in a concussion had all been some bizarre drink induced dream. He also started to wonder if it was his wallet he was really pursuing.

It was quite by chance that Youji stood on the wharf beside the Mississippi river. Well, not chance, so much as lust. Whilst making another fruitless round in Jackson Park, Youji spotted a rather well endowed brunette leaning out the window of a passing carriage. She was strikingly handsome in lavender muslin, her bosom practically pouring out the top of her bodice.

He couldn't help it. After all, didn't he deserve some sort of reward for all his hard work? Youji hailed a carriage of his own and followed the brunette until they reached the docks. But upon arriving, Youji was dismayed to find that the women had a gentleman waiting on her, ticket in hand, to take her off on some steamboat adventure. He watched as they boarded, then with a heavy sigh, turned to leave.

Youji practically tripped over some kid loading luggage onto a cart to be put aboard the vessel.

"Excuse me," Youji mumbled, sidestepping the cart. He walked back up the dock feeling weary from his search and disappointed that he was alone, when he suddenly stopped. And blinked. Then turned around.

Different cap, same kid! He didn't know how he knew, but he _knew_. Maybe it was the tilt of the cap, or the way the kid walked but Youji would bet his life that was the same kid that had stolen his wallet a week before. He watched as the boy pushed a load of baggage up the ramp and disappeared onboard.

Making a quick decision, Youji purchased a ticket, not quite sure what the destination was and proceeded to board the ship.

He found his room accommodating, if small, but it afforded him a view over the water on the upper deck. The dinning saloon doubled as a parlor. Gambling was allowed after sunset, and he was told that the bar was nothing short of superb. All the comforts of home.

And the best part was, the object of his search was essentially trapped aboard. Finding the kid now would be like shooting fish in a barrel. That, and he would have fun doing it.

* * *

He was dying. Yes, Youji was sure of it. Youji stood on the upper deck, overlooking the river and contemplated his fate. Two days out and Youji had not seen hide or hair of the little blond thief. It was because of the blond that he was on this boat. The boat made him sick. Youji hadn't ever remembered being this sick in all his life, not even when he had crossed the Atlantic. He was hot, then cold. He hurt all over and the very thought of alcohol made his stomach turn upside down.

A gorgeous young red haired woman flirted shamelessly with him while up on deck getting some fresh air, and all Youji could think was that the sky had a distinct yellow color to it. Yes, he was definitely dying. And it was all the blond's fault.

Youjji could hear a commotion from the lower deck, but couldn't care enough about it to lean over the rail to take a look. Instead, he decided to head back to his room.

Someone was running up the stairs, Youji could here the thumping, but again it would have required far too much of his energy to care.

Suddenly, a body plowed into him, and he was pushed into the rail. Youji caught hold of the body and helped who ever it was to right themselves, then he dusted himself off.

"Are you al..." Youji looked down into the face of the person that had knocked him over. Blue eyes under a tweed cap. "YOU!" he seethed. The object of all Youji's problems just fell, quite literally, into his lap.

Those eyes blinked back at him. " YOU? Aw crap..." The boy struggled to gain his footing and turned to make a run for it but Youji wasn't about to let his prize go. He grabbed the boy by the collar.

"Lemme go!" the boy yelled. Youji did no such thing and a struggle ensued. Being the taller of the two, Youji had little trouble keeping the boy in hand. It reminded him very much of their first meeting.

Youji could hear rapidly approaching footsteps, but he didn't care. He was not going to let the kid go, after all the trouble Youji had gone through in trying to find him.

The footsteps stopped a few feet away and a man came up to Youji, reaching for the boys collar, much the way Youji had.

"Hand 'im here, sir. I'll take care of the little freeloading bastard!"

The boy stopped struggling and looked up at the pock-faced man. A flicker of fear passed through those expressive blue eyes before being squelched. It was gone in almost the same instant, but not quickly enough for Youji not to notice it.

Youji had spent far too much time and effort to find the boy now, he was not about the let his quarry go.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Youji said, standing tall. " This boy happens to be my servant. But if he has caused you any trouble he _will_ apologize. Won't you, boy?" Youji tugged at the boy's collar.

The boy whipped his head back around to Youji. Smoldering blue eyes told Youji exactly what he could do with his apology. But Youji knew he had the upper hand, and if the boy did not want to be thrown overboard, he would comply. The battle of wills only lasted a couple of seconds before the boy conceded, shoulders slumped in defeat. Youji couldn't help but smirk.

"Now see here, sir. I caught the boy sneakin' round the galley. He's a stowaway, I tell ya. Nothin' but trash. There's no need for ya..." the man said.

" Well, he is my servant, though I have to agree, he does look rather unkempt," Youji said, hand still clamped on the boys shoulder. Youji heard the boy snort at his comment. " I'll take him to my quarters, straight away, and I promise he will cause you no further trouble."

"But..."

"Now, boy. You need to apologize to the nice man." Youji tightened his grip in silent command.

"I apologize," the boy whispered, not quite meeting the man's eyes.

" Well now, if that's been settled, we must take our leave. Good day." Youji nodded, and then pushed on the boys shoulder, motioning the boy forward. Youji didn't let go until they stood outside the door to his room.

"Now, I am going to let go of you and you are not going to give me any trouble whatsoever, or I'll be returning you to the crew with my compliments. Do we understand each other?"

The boy nodded once, and Youji took that as a yes. He fished out the key and opened the door, motioning the boy inside. With the door closed, Youji went to the washbasin, tossing some water on his face. He stood there for a moment before toweling the water off, then he turned back to face the boy.

The boy had not moved from his initial position, beside the door, looking for all the world like he was attending his own execution. Youji noticed the way the boy seemed to be clenching his fists. At first, Youji couldn't tell why the boy so uptight, but then he saw the boy's eye's dart to the bed and then to Youji and back again.

So that was what the kid had been so frightened of that night. He could have smacked himself for not figuring it out before hand. Youji laughed aloud.

"Look kid, I'm a ladies man through and through. And even if I had the inclination, I'm sure as hell not into little boys."

Youji was sure five different emotions crossed the boys face in a fraction of a second. Youji watched as the boy's eyes grew, and then narrowed. "Little boy?" the boy practically shouted. He looked...mad.

"Uh..." Youji was stunned at the change in attitude. And was it getting hot in here?

" I'll be eighteen in February, I'll have you know." The youth jutted his chin out.

Youji eyed the boy for a long moment, before shaking his head." Well, you're younger than me, at any rate."

"Dinosaurs are younger than you, old man," the kid snorted. The boy seemed to have taken Youji's comment to heart and had forgotten to be afraid.

"Old? Kid, I saved you from taking a dive off the port bow. You should show some gratitude. That, even though you assaulted me and then proceeded to steal my wallet." Even through the banter Youji was starting to feel a bit green again. But it would be a cold day in hell before he would show weakness in front of the youth.

"You fell! You're as ungraceful as a goose. And what were you doin' pulling me into your room like that? You looked pretty eager for somewhat who _ain't interested_!" The blue-eyed youth had crossed his arms over his chest, but for all his pretense, Youji could swear that the kid was enjoying the argument. He would have put more thought into his next words, but the room seemed to sway.

"Look, I don't want to argue right now. I just wanted to do something nice. I'm sorry, Ok?" Damn! Did he just apologize for getting robbed? What the hell was wrong with him?

It seemed to be the right thing to say though. Most of the tension seemed to ease out of the boy as he uncrossed his arms.

The boy cocked his head, and seemed to study the older man. Youji knew when he was being sized up and was suddenly self-conscious. He felt like he was taking a test, but he didn't know what the requirements were.

After a moment, the kid stepped forward and extended his arm. " Names Owen. Owen Matias Iarflaith. Friends call me Omi."

Youji wanted to shake the boys hand. He wanted to ask why the boy had such a ridiculously long name. What he _did_ do, was throw up at the boys feet.

* * *

He woke to humming. There was something cool and wet on his forehead. And why was he lying down? The last thing he remembered was... oh no.

"Un..." Youji never remembered sounding so unintelligent. He tried to sit up, but a gentle hand on his arm held him down.

" Now don't go getting up and ruining all my work, Grandpa."

"Youji. The name is Youji," Youji whined.

"So that's how you say it. I'm tellin' ya, I had a terrible time tryin' to figure it out. I got the Le Clair part well enough."

Youji turned to see Omi sitting next to the bed, an open book in his lap. "Le Clair?" he questioned, wondering how the boy knew.

"Your wallet. It had some papers in it," Omi explained. "I wasn't sure how to pronounce your first name, though. French name's are so weird."

"My name's not any weirder than yours. Iarflaith? What kind of name is that?" Youji asked incredulously.

Omi's eyes narrowed. " My mother named me, watch where you tread."

Youji had to think about that for a moment. "So your mother named you, huh? What part did your father contribute?

"I ain't got no father and I ain't got no last name." Omi stood up and took the wet cloth off of Youji's forehead.

Yet another riddle about this boy. Youji decided to file away the information for later.

"So, what are you doing playing nursemaid?" Youji asked. He noticed the boy had cleaned up, thank goodness. There wasn't anything left of Youji's disgrace. After Youji had thrown up, he'd also passed out. Which was both humiliating and a bit scary, considering his company.

"I'm supposed to be your _servant_, 'member?" Omi said sarcastically. Then he turned and gave Youji a small smile. " Besides, you really need someone to take care of you. Are all old men prone to fainting spells?" He teased.

Youji glared. Then he huffed. There really wasn't anything he could do about it now, but he vowed never to lose consciousness in this boy's presence again. It was utterly humiliating. "Could you hand me a clean shirt? I'm supposed to host a card table tonight," he grumbled.

"Don't you mean last night? And no, you aren't going anywhere." Omi crossed back over to Youji and put his hand on Youji's forehead. " Your fever's gone down. Good. I'll get you some soup from the parlor. We should be in Natchez late tomorrow." Omi gave Youji a fresh cloth. " Ya might wanna wash up while I'm gone. You're kinda ripe." Youji took the cloth, clamping down on the urge to say 'yes mom.'

"Hey, Omi," Youji called out, and Omi stopped at the door. "What are you going to pay with?"

Omi smirked. " You think I plan on paying?"

"Omi, you can't steal it. You supposed to be my servant. What will..."

Omi laughed. " Easy old man, don't go gettin' yer knickers in a knot. I got money." Omi held up a familiar wallet and winked at Youji, before leaving.

Youji sighed and threw himself back down on the bed. "Smart ass."

* * *

Youji felt he'd learned a great deal about his new traveling companion by the time they docked in Natchez. He spent no little amount of time trying to figure the boy out. Omi was not the child Youji had thought him to be, but quite an intelligent young man.

Youji had engaged Omi on several discussions regarding anything from transportation and land issues, to current affairs and a number conversation on things that should have been utterly mundane. To Youji's great surprise, Omi was not only knowledgeable but also articulate, and brought to their discussions many points that Youji himself had not even thought of. Youji found it refreshing.

The book that Omi had been reading, had not belonged to either one of them, but had been pilfered from another guest. Upon their departure, Omi discreetly returned the borrowed item. Youji wasn't as surprised about that as he had been about the book itself. A book of science by Benjamin Franklin. Hardly a child's read.

Omi smiled a lot. It created the illusion of trust, but Youji had gotten a look at the knife tucked away in the sleeve of Omi's long sleeve cotton shirt. The boy was hardly a pushover.

Omi put on a pretty good street persona, but when they were alone, the act seemed to waiver. Youji had no doubt that the boy had spent some time on the streets, but that wasn't who he really was.

Youji knew that Omi still possessed his wallet, but he had made no effort in getting it back. He didn't know why, really. The company was worth the loss, he supposed.

When they made port in Natchez, they both got off the boat together.

The first stop they made, was so that Youji could send a telegraph to his hotel in New Orleans and have his belongings sent to Natchez. The second stop was a plantation like hotel on the main drag.

Youji walked up the steps, but stopped and looked back at Omi, still standing at the bottom of the stairs. He seemed hesitant to follow.

" Omi, c'mon. I'm very tired. You can't _want_ to go back to the streets. You could stay here. I'll let you stay in my room if you don't want to get one of your own. You can use the floor or something."

Omi looked down at his clothes, and tugged at the hem of his tattered shirt. " And what about this? They might let me have one night, but I can't _stay_ at a place like this with these clothes." Omi looked at Youji expectantly.

Youji nodded, realizing that Omi was right." Shopping is on the agenda, first thing in the morning," he answered.

"Shopping?" Omi rolled his eyes. "How the hell am I supposed to go shopping?"

"You still have my _wallet_, don't you?" Youji didn't wait for an answer, but continued op the steps and into the lobby.

After a moment, Omi followed him, grumbling all the way. "Smart ass."

* * *

Omi was the first to wake up. Luckily, Youji had gotten a room that was furnished with a bed and an oversized settee. Not that Omi minded the floor, not at all. But falling asleep to the feel of soft velvet was an experience he had not had in a very long time. It was with much remorse that Omi stood up and stretched, shaking of the stiffness in his legs. He would have liked to stay asleep longer, but he'd always been an early riser.

Omi looked over at the bed that held his older companion. The sheets and duvet had fallen low, and afforded Omi a view of the man's chest. Omi noticed that Youji seemed rather...fit He couldn't help but admire the view. Omi flushed, realizing he was noticing things he probably shouldn't. He couldn't afford to get to familiar with the man.

He needed new clothing if he was going to stay another night. Omi didn't like the way the desk clerk had looked at him, but couldn't fault the man. Omi knew what he looked like. He played the part well. Omi decided to take care of things by himself, and then he would treat Youji to breakfast. With Youji's money, of course.

In about an hour, Omi had two new shirts and a new pair of pants. He was lucky that they didn't need to be tailored. More stores were selling pre-made clothing these days. The boots were a splurge, as far as he was concerned. His shoes still had most of their soles, but they were way to small, and had become downright painful to wear.

Omi decided on fresh fruit and danishes for breakfast, picking them up in the parlor of the hotel before heading upstairs.

It was late enough that Youji should be awake. Omi knocked on the door, just incase the man was still getting dressed, though. He waited, and then knocked again. He couldn't imagine Youji asleep at that hour of the morning. He put his ear to the door and heard no sound from the other side. Then he knocked again.

It became apparent that no one was going to answer the door. Omi had been ditched. Youji had probably seen his chance to be rid of the thief and had left. _Left behind_. _You were left behind._

Omi started to walk away. It wasn't new to him, being left behind. But something wasn't right about it. Youji had seemed very adamant about going shopping in the morning. He had been the one to track Omi down in the first place. Youji hadn't even taken his wallet back.

Omi stopped and turned around, heading straight back to Youji's room. He put his ear to the door, and when he didn't hear anything, he pulled out a pin from his back pocket and proceeded to pick the lock.

He couldn't quite squelch the relief he felt at seeing Youji asleep on his bed_. Not left behind_.

"Hey, old man. Get up already." Omi tapped his feet on the Persian carpet, food in hand.

Youji let out a soft moan and turned away slightly, but he didn't get up. The sheet had fallen even lower, showing a good portion of Youji's torso. Omi gaped. Then he gulped, hoping that Youji was still clothed under the rest of that sheet. Youji had been dressed in nightwear when he had gone to bed, and maybe he'd taken his shirt off during the warm summer night, but Omi was going to have a few choice words for the man if he had taken his pants off too.

"Look grandpa, the days almost over, get up already. Hey, are you listening to me?" The question was asked as Omi reached Youji's bedside. Omi kicked the bed with his knee.

"Youji?" he asked, noticing that the older blond's hair was plastered to his face with perspiration. Omi set the food down on the nightstand and put a hand on Youji's forehead, only to pull it away with a curse.

"Didn't we just go through this?" Omi muttered.

It occurred to Omi that he didn't have to stay. If he didn't stay, he wouldn't have to worry about being left behind at some point. Youji was clearly not going anywhere right now, and Omi held no loyalty to him. Though, Omi thought, Youji had been generous, and had not asked for anything in return. It was a rare quality these days, and one Omi had not come by in a long long time.

And as much as he would never admit aloud, Omi liked having someone around. In the short time that Omi had known Youji, Youji had made him feel a sense of belonging. And for that, Omi would not abandon anyone.

* * *

"Well?" Omi paced the room as the doctor put his things away. Omi noticed these things included a flask of whiskey, but chose not to comment.

"You say he had a fever 'just couple days ago'?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah. Nauseous too. And his skin didn't look so hot. Kinda like how it looks now. But he was feelin' better. We were supposed to go shopping this morning."

"Well, son. The only thing he'll be shopping for is a plot in the ground. My experience has been that most people don't have it in them to survive. If I were you, I'd just try to make his passing as comfortable as possible."

Omi reeled at the doctor' prognosis.

The doctor noticed Omi's astonishment. "Yellow fever, boy," he elaborated. "Ain't no cure. I can bleed him if ya want, but it usually takes 'em in the end anyway. It's a damn shame." The doctor shook his head as he stood. Omi noticed the way the doctor's eyes roamed the room. He seemed to be taking inventory. Then the doctor let out a rather exaggerated sigh. "I'll have to alert the proper authorities. He'll have to be quarantined, I suppose. It'll be filthy and I doubt you'll find anyone willin' to take care of him. It's a shame, considering what a nice place this is, all clean..." he let the words hang.

Omi seethed. How dare the man, a man who had taken a vow of life, try to take advantage of such a situation. The man had already put Youji in a grave, and wanted to benefit from it. Still, there was nothing he could do about it, the doctor was right. Quarantine was without a doubt one of the worst things Omi had experienced. He would not willingly put someone else in a situation such as that, not as long as he could help it.

Quietly, Omi pulled out Youji's wallet and pulled out fifty dollars. He handed it to the doctor. " No need to go through all that trouble, sir. A _cold_ is hardly worth it, don't you think?"

The doctor cleared his throat, hesitating for just a moment before taking the money from Omi's hand. "You're right. A cold is hardly worth the bother."

After the doctor left, Omi calmed down enough to really take stock of the situation. He'd taken on a great responsibility in trying to save the life of a man he hardly knew.

A man who had yellow fever. Omi shuddered. He knew all too well how fatal it could be. But he'd lived through it. He would make sure Youji would too.

* * *

Author's notes and Historical interests:

We'll start with Owen, or shall I say, **Omi**. As you might have guessed with his name, Omi is Irish. Owen means 'borne of nobility', Matias – 'gift from God', and Iarfhlaith (yar-lath) is the name of an Irish Saint. We haven't gotten around to his history yet, but we will. He may seem out of character, and he is to some extent as far as the anime goes, because his upbringing and experiences are different. And since these are the things that mold you as a person, yes, there are some things that are going to be different. Rest assured, he's still Omi.

**_Steamboats_** were a big part of transportation history in America. The first steamboats date back to 1787. Mississippi saw _its_ first steamboat 1811. These boats had numerous designs, most including a paddlewheel.

The steamboats were used to transport cargoes of cotton, sugar and other agricultural and industrial supplies as well as passengers. They were the most important mode of transportation in the region, until the railroad in the later 1800's.

Though steamboats are romanticized today as being a fairly easy way to travel, it was very dangerous. They were prone to fires, and were known to capsize. The waters of the Mississippi River also had an impact. Calm in some places and very rough in others, the river claimed more than its share of boats and lives over the years.

The** Mississippi River **together with the Missouri is approximately 6270 K. in length. It flows from Lake Itasca in Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico, New Orleans being of of many ports.

The city of **Natchez **is in the state of Mississippi and is located north of New Orleans, up the Mississippi River approximately 250 - 300 miles. (VERY ruff estimate, by the way) It is the oldest settlement off the Mississippi river and was widely know for its mansion-like plantations, its export being cotton, of course.

I did a lot of research on yellow fever, most of which would bore the heck out of you, but I'll outline it anyway:

**Yellow fever** is an acute infectious disease transmitted by mosquitoes. It is usually indigenous to tropical places, but was carried to the states and sustained many epidemics in the 18 and 19th centaury. The last being in New Orleans in 1905.

After an incubation period of 3-5, the illness has a sudden onset. The symptoms may include headache, fever, chills, back pain, nausea, rapid heartbeat, jaundice and bleeding into the skin. These symptoms tend to recede for a brief period, only to return with intense severity, and can include hemorrhaging, vomiting blood, delirium, coma and death. The mortality rate at about the time this story takes place was at 85.

There were many doctors trying many different forms of treatment at this time, as no one was entirely sure about the cause or the course of action to take. An outbreak could cause mass hysteria, and family members have been known to abandon the sick to save themselves. Husbands left wives, mothers their own children. Places of quarantine were usually very filthy places. Usually the only people willing to help in such places were clergy, and those who had already had the disease, since they were now immune to the fever.

Lastly, the **telegraph** was not used commercially until about 1845. This is one of those little instances that I have rewritten history to suit my needs.

* * *


End file.
